


gotta feel for my automobile

by AgentStannerShipper



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Car Sex, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Other, Sex with a Car, as in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 15:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Aziraphale is too busy to have sex, so Crowley fucks his car instead.





	gotta feel for my automobile

**Author's Note:**

> Title is obviously from Queen's "I'm in Love With My Car" (was going to just use the title, but then I liked that line better). Look, it's crack. You know what you're getting into.

Crowley woke up in his Bentley, which was unusual for a few reasons. Firstly, Crowley never slept in his car if he could avoid it. It wrinkled his clothes, for one, and it seemed a bit tacky, especially where there was a perfectly comfortable bed back at his flat, or a perfectly comfortable sofa at Aziraphale’s.

Secondly, Crowley couldn’t quite remember falling asleep in the first place. He squinted through the haze of memory, trying to sort it out. He’d been at Aziraphale’s. They’d been drinking. Crowley had gotten a bit randy – whiskey had that effect on him, and they’d been out of wine – and…oh.

Aziraphale had kicked him out. Crowley vaguely recalled climbing into the angel’s lap, rubbing up against him and trying to coax the angel into making an effort. Aziraphale had, with some amusement and more than a touch of regret, removed him, saying that he had business to be getting on with, and he really couldn’t afford the post-coital nap that inevitably followed sex whenever they had it. Crowley had pouted, but he’d let Aziraphale usher him to the door. He hadn’t bothered to sober up, but had crawled into his Bentley, curled up comfortably on the bench, and passed out.

He glanced through the window. He was still parked in front of the bookshop. It was early morning, far too early for anyone to be up and about, the first light of day just beginning to consider making an appearance over the horizon. There was still a little whiskey in his system, and Crowley realized as he sat upright and stretched that he was hard in his trousers.

He hissed softly, unbuckling them without really thinking about it and sighing as his cock sprang free. It stood upright like a flagpole, thick and hard and aching, purpling at the tip and dribbling beads of precum down the throbbing shaft. Crowley closed his fist around it, spreading his knees as he gave himself a few lazy pumps. His head titled back against the seat, and he groaned.

It didn’t help much. He glanced towards the bookshop again. Aziraphale would undoubtedly be inside. Possibly he’d be done with whatever business he’d had, and he could get on with fucking Crowley. Then again, probably not. The lights were off, and Crowley suspected Aziraphale would have noticed that he hadn’t left and would have come out to get him when he was done. The angel was accommodating that way. But it didn’t help Crowley’s predicament.

It didn’t occur to him to will away his erection. He was horny, and it felt too good, stroking the aching flesh, relieving some of the tension. And then there was the fact that he was in public. He was sitting in his car, in the middle of SoHo, and soon people would be waking up. Soon people might be out with their dogs, or going for a morning jog, or running errands, and they might walk past and see Crowley sitting in his car, cock out and head thrown back, pleasuring himself where anyone could see. It sent a thrill down his spine.

At the same time, his hand wasn’t really cutting it. Crowley hadn’t had to masturbate since he and Aziraphale had started having sex, and it was _fine_ , but Crowley had become accustomed to more than fine. He’d gotten accustomed to Aziraphale’s tight hole, to his plush arse and thighs. He’d gotten accustomed to getting to _fuck_ something, not just his own hand. It wasn’t quite the same.

Maybe…

Crowley released his cock and ran his fingers thoughtfully over the leather seat. It was the right balance between rough and soft, and the ridges in the fabric would feel interesting. It wasn’t like he’d never considered it. He was incredibly fond of the car, after all, and he’d had more than a few fantasies about fucking Aziraphale in the backseat. And some of those fantasies had turned into slightly different fantasies, the same sort of thing without the angel present, with just him and the car he adored.

What the hell. Crowley wanted to come, and he wasn’t going to be picky about how it happened. He shucked his trousers all the way off and dropped them into the footwell. Then he debated position.

He ended up laying out along the bench, one knee on the floor and one up on the seat, spread wide so that when he braced himself on his forearm, gripping the dashboard with the other for leverage, his cock fell right along the edge of the seat. He rolled his hips and groaned. He’d been right. The leather felt amazing, and the grooves carved into the seat caught at the sensitive underside of his cock, sending sparks of pleasure skittering up his spine. Crowley rutted, fucking himself against the seat harder and faster, building up a rhythm as his cock skidded against precum-slicked leather. He gripped the dashboard a little tighter and panted eagerly.

It was good. It was so fucking good. But it wasn’t quite enough. An undignified whine tore itself from Crowley’s throat as he chased his orgasm, nudging closer every time the head of his cock caught at one of the ridges in the leather, but still out of reach. He snarled and sat up, looking around for something he could use to push himself over the edge.

The exhaust pipe occurred to him. It seemed the obvious solution. It was the right shape for it, the right size to slide his cock into and fuck until he came. But even as he considered it, he discarded it. The exhaust pipe was metal, was cold and a bit sharp at the edges and Crowley would have to be careful if he didn’t want to end up cutting his dick. He didn’t want to be careful. He wanted to rut, hard and fast and furious, to pound into something wet and warm until he saw stars.

Without really thinking about it, he started the car. The engine rumbled to life, and the vibrations went straight through Crowley, who moaned. The car purred under him, as if encouraging him like a lover, a tone not all that different from the sound Aziraphale made when Crowley slid into him and rubbed right against his prostate. Crowley throbbed desperately, and he squeezed his cock tight, looking around more frantically.

His eyes landed on the glove compartment. He fumbled it open, scrabbling the tapes out onto the floor with hardly a thought. It was a fairly large compartment, which Crowley usually appreciated, and lined with soft felt. He mumbled a soft apology to the Bentley, promising to put it back properly when he was done, and braced his arms against the dashboard and his knees against the seat. When he slid his cock into the glove compartment, with the aid of a minor miracle, the opening had shrunk down so that it rubbed against Crowley’s cock from all sides. He groaned as he bottomed out, balls tapping against the cold plastic door. With the engine still running, the car was still vibrating around him, and with his precum to slick the way Crowley started to pump his hips, panting eagerly as he fucked into the glove compartment.

His head fell forward, thunking against the cool glass of the windshield, and he moaned, reaching down to fondle his balls as he thrust, squeezing them, feeling the way they drew up tight as he got closer and closer to the edge. The felt was soft and sweet against his cock, the hole on just the right side of tight, and with the vibrations, the purring car egging him on, Crowley was barrelling towards the edge in minutes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut to better enjoy the sensations. “Come on. Almost there.”

“Crowley?”

Aziraphale’s voice, slightly muffled through the thick glass of the window, was coloured with shock, and Crowley’s eyes popped open as his orgasm burst out of him, flooding the glove compartment and soaking the felt. He pulled out and fell backwards onto the seat, his body a mess of sweat and semen. Cum dribbled out of the glove compartment.

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked back and forth between Crowley and the glove compartment, taking it all in. Embarrassed, Crowley miracled it right again, tapes and all. He fumbled for his trousers and rolled down the window. “Er, it’s not what it looks like?”

“If I’d known you were so hard-up you were going to fuck your car, I would have let you stay,” Aziraphale said and Crowley squirmed into his trousers. “I know you don’t have the same sentimental attachment to the shop, but I’m sure I could have found you a nice book to fuck. Some of the older editions do have very glossy pages, and-“

“Shut up,” Crowley mumbled. He turned off the engine and climbed out of the car, crossing his arms defensively.

“I mean, no need for you to come all the way out here in the cold.” Aziraphale was grinning now, a smug sort of smile that Crowley sorely wanted to knock off his face. “I know I’m the old-fashioned sort, but I imagine it might be uncomfortably cramped in-“

He was cut off by Crowley, who seized the lapel of Aziraphale’s jacket and hauled him in, crashing their lips together. Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley snagged his hip and brought them flush. One orgasm had been nice, but two would be just the ticket.  He fumbled behind himself and tugged open the door to the backseat, pushed the angel inside, and climbed in after him.


End file.
